Rules Regarding the Undead
by Lord Onisyr
Summary: Matt's blissful year as a vampire comes to an abrupt end when a certain not-entirely-dead detective reappears to give him an important mission in helping solve the Kira case. Crossover with Vampire: The Masquerade.


Rules Regarding the Undead

**Rules Regarding the Undead**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters from Death Note are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media and all recognizable settings and characters from Vampire: The Masquerade are the property of White Wolf Game Studio. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: This story is a crossover between Death Note and role-playing game Vampire: The Masquerade done for Death Note Contest over at LiveJournal for the weekly prompt: Crossovers. This has no connection to the storylines of any of my other DN fics and is entirely AU.

**February 18, 2009**

**New York City**

Matt knew he was in trouble when he could smell the blood of every passer-by on the street.

Thin arms wrapped around his own body as he seemingly braced himself further against the cold, though his body was cold enough not to be bothered by a little winter chill. Instead it was the heat boiling in his stomach he tried to ignore, but, as they say in Star Trek "resistance is futile."

It was a thought that made him chuckle, one distraction from the fire burning through him and the rising smell of blood.

The three old ladies in Dolce and Gabana walking past him smelled like aged blood. He could hear the heartbeat of a tiny poodle that wandered in his direction and padded its paws against his high boots, followed by the louder beat of a man in a leather jacket who ran over calling for "pookums."

Matt stepped away as the man reached down and picked the dog up, looking up to give a sheepish apology.

Matt, however, strained his jaw muscles from extending his fangs, the sweet metallic scent just a few inches away and one bite away from being his.

Instead he gave a forced smile and a nod in return before practically rushing down the sidewalk.

This was bad. The only time he had felt the thirst this intense was the moment after his Embrace. Then, however, he had a gorgeous London punk chick in front of him willingly stretching out her bare arm; his sire feeding him like any good mother should feed her young.

Since that time she had weaned him well. In the past year since his turning, Matt had quickly adapted to the rules of the Hunt and kept himself well fed. Not feeding before jumping the plane, however, was a grave mistake.

He didn't know what hunger Frenzy felt like, though Matt was familiar enough with his Brujah blood to know it was not patient and would not be able to wait much longer. Going apeshit in the middle of Madison Avenue, right before his scheduled meeting with the prince of the city, would not be a good thing at all.

His pace slightly quickened against the cracked and stained concrete of Madison Avenue as he took another deep draw from his cigarette. It was a force of habit mostly; his lungs only drew in air to eliminate a vacuum, like a perpetual death rattle, and the nicotine did nothing for him. It was one form of comfort he refused to give up.

Desperate eyes turned all around the street, looking for some alleyway where some transient might be making their bed. No one would notice if another old drunk died in his sleep.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, his miracle finally arrived; his angel in a tattered tuxedo leaning against the wall and swaying his wizened body back and forth.

Matt slowed his pace, flicking his cigarette into the street while catching up to one of the crowds of people so he looked like just one member of the conglomerate. No one saw him slip into the alleyway, fading in with the shadows as he stood next to the old man.

He expected a scream or a bite when his gloved hand slipped over the transient's mouth, but the old man continued swaying; making no resistance and too far gone to even notice his body being dragged down the alley away from view from the street.

Matt dragged the old man to a dumpster at the end of the alley, letting the shadows and the darkness of night cover the two of them. Matt was soon on his knees, fangs fully extended, his victim's head pulled to the side and his throat exposed.

Wrinkled flesh was soon torn and a torrent of hot, sweet blood burst into his mouth; the fire in his body cooling as he drank greedily.

Within a second his desperation abated, giving him enough focus to look around and see if he was being watched. No one was present, at least no one mortal and if another Kindred happened to be under supernatural cover he didn't care right now.

Matt took a few more greedy gulps before prying his fangs out of the old man's neck. His victim's heart still had a strong beat and he had not stopped babbling to himself even as a creature drank his blood.

Matt set him back against the dumpster, licking the wound on his neck and causing it to vanish like nothing happened. The hunger was significantly reduced, though not entirely gone; he would nee to feed again though could go on with his nightly plans for now.

"God, these kids and their low fucking taste," a voice called from the other side of the dumpster.

Matt jumped up, reaching into his brown vest, and swinging toward the sound with his revolver in hand.

He stopped cold, the momentary scare wearing off though he still pointed his gun at the new visitor.

The first thing Matt saw was the black, squat nose that looked more like a dog than a human, whiskers emerging from a thick beard and curling toward a pair of brown pointed ears. The creature's tattered white shirt pressed against the wall as slitted pupils regarded him.

Matt slightly relaxed and lowered the gun, surprised at himself that he was so used to this sight. The animalistic features were a clear sign of a vampire from Clan Gangrel; an older member of Clan Gangrel apparently as these features tended to be more evident in ones of older blood.

"Greetings, jumpy little Brujah," the Gangrel said. "And that gun's gonna do you no good."

"How the fuck did you know my Clan," Matt said, lowering the gun though keeping a firm grip.

His own question was answered for him as the Gangrel reached into the pocket of his camouflage cargo pants and produced an impeccably white card.

"I figured, but you just confirmed it," the Gangrel said. "You wouldn't happen to know who…" his yellow eyes went to the card "…Mail Jeevas is would you?"

Matt chuckled, putting his gun back in its holster as his hand went into his jeans pocket for a card that looked exactly like the one the Gangrel held.

"That would be me," Matt said, looking down at the card. "You must be Jonas."

The Gangrel bowed, his long, messy brown and gray hair touching the ground before he came back up. He then looked at the old man still leaning against the wall still babbling to himself.

"He'll be fine, good thing too because if he wasn't you wouldn't look too good," Jonas said. "Anyway, his highness awaits."

Jonas turned on his heel and walked down the alley with Matt soon following. The Gangrel then bent over and picked up what looked like an alley cat. The cat's yowl was cut off by a set of fangs ripping into its throat.

"Low fucking taste indeed," Matt muttered to himself, reaching into his vest pocket for his cigarettes.

* * *

Matt wasn't surprised when the elevator reached the basement level. Basements were natural havens for Kindred; out of the way, forgotten, and buried from sunlight.

The doors opened with a merry ding, the smell of soil and must meeting Matt's nose as he followed Jonas out of the elevator and into what was clearly the wide storage locker of the large apartment building. Plywood sheets were set up over wire fencing in what had just been the space created by the foundation. There was nothing here, however, but the concrete walls and floor and the cages for nonexistent items.

A part of him imagined the plywood and caging were simple walls, each door to each locker a regular door on which black numbers were sloppily painted. Just the smell made him recall that fateful night when he was drunk off his ass and requiring his flatmate Melisand to drag him into their nasty London apartment.

He could smell the mold though alcohol and see a mass of torn posters on the walls, envisioning his sluggish body crashing on the nasty paisley couch. He would think nothing of Melisand starting to make out with him or her teeth gently nibbling his neck. The sight of her looking up at him with his own blood smeared around her mouth was another vivid image.

Matt held back his smile as he walked behind Jonas to the other side of the basement, keeping an eye on his surroundings through the dim emergency lamps around the walls.

That moment in history would be his rebirth, the revelation of his true and wonderful existence after a lifetime as a helpless waif. Everything was in the past now: mom and dad's car accident, his cop brother's death in the line of duty, passing from foster home to foster home, his entire time at Wammy's House, all of it.

Mello's betrayal, his leaving, was in the past now. L's ultimate betrayal, his death, was in the past now. All Matt had now was eternity.

Jonas stopped at a side wall of the basement, taking out a skeleton key and placing it in what looked like another crack in the wall. He turned the key with a loud click before pushing against the wall and pushing open a hidden concrete door.

Matt was not surprised by this new development either, though was now slightly nervous. He naturally did not know the prince of New York City personally, though it was hardly a secret he was a Nosferatu; a Clan noted for their hideous appearance who kept their network and havens in sewers and tunnels.

Going through this door would likely mean going into strange territory and he had heard enough rumors about Nosferatu havens to be a little wary. This was the prince, however, maybe a little more decorum would be kept and Matt was already expected an expected guest…for whatever reason.

A week ago Matt was still in his blissful existence in London, spending most of his time doing odd jobs and hanging out with his fellow Brujah or anyone else along for the party.

The most recent meeting of Elysium, the gathering of Kindred before the prince, had been routine. That was until Prince Mithras himself pulled Matt aside after all business was done and handed him a message; a personal request from Prince Calebros in New York City for a meeting. The prince wasn't exactly forward with specific details, only that it involved an ongoing matter with which Matt had some past experience.

Jonas looked back at Matt and nodded, walking through the door and down a set of stairs with Matt following close behind; his stomach churning a bit more.

It had taken him a while to even remotely understand what said matter could be but the realization made him shiver; it likely had something to do with Kira.

Matt had spent most of his childhood training to be a successor to L, even to have L himself tell him he was third in line for the position. L had been the lead investigator into the Kira case, a job that earned him his death.

Kira's killing spree had increased since L's death; a situation that was sure to gain the interest of every sect of vampires. Matt had paid attention to the case long enough and done enough research on his own kind to know the Anarchs would celebrate Kira as a force of chaos, the Sabbat would use Kira as a cover for their own slaughter, or the Camarilla, Matt's own organization, saw a potential supernatural calamity that could eventually threaten the Masquerade.

Matt had been close to L and Matt was now Kindred; the reasons for this summons were only obvious.

The short stairwell was lit by faint tube lights coiled around the iron railing. Matt closely followed Jonas down the long cement staircase, noticing the musty basement smell had significantly abated and was replaced by the aroma of rose incense.

Jonas stepped off the last stair and across a black floor, followed by Matt, whose boots felt soft carpeting.

"The prince keeps an anteroom for special meetings and visitors," Jonas said. "That's where we're going now."

"So he rolled out the black carpet just for me," Matt replied with a nervous chuckle, seeing another partial wall lined with small potted palm trees.

"You wish," Jonas said with a dirty laugh. "Do you know what an Archon is, kid?"

Matt searched his memory banks. Archon was one term that escaped him, but then he knew he could not learn everything about the Kindred after one year no matter how much he dedicated himself.

"Don't think I've had that class yet," Matt said. "I'm still a freshman after all."

Jonas' cackle sounded good natured enough to put Matt somewhat at ease.

"Well, better tell you now before you fuck something up," Jonas said, stopping and turning to face Matt. "An Archon is like Camarilla special forces sent from the main elders themselves for elite missions. His highness is entertaining an Archon and both of them want to speak to you about that which you will find out soon, though don't worry it's not for anything you did."

"Well then, I feel really fucking special now," Matt said with his usual smug smile, though if he could sweat he would.

The presence of special forces made this trip go from something possibly related to Kira to something definitely related to Kira.

Jonas turned around and walked toward the partition, passing through the pseudo wall of palm branches. Matt walked forward, pushing away the palms and finding himself walking into a brightly lit indoor garden.

The pattern on the three walls resembled the sides of a greenhouse and bottom of the walls were lined with raised bankings filled with plants, grass and flowers behind small stone walls. The remaining floor was green carpeted, a pathway snaking around a bubbling fountain in the center in between a ring of stone benches. A small stone deck was set up in the back a series of metal café tables and chairs.

Just as Matt had the second to marvel at the craftsmanship of this space, the black curtain on a stone archway near the back fluttered open and a hunched figure stepped out.

"Your highness," Jonas said with a casual bow.

Matt clumsily gave his own bow, trying to keep his eyes downcast.

The prince's bald head covered in scabs, mound of misshapen flesh for a nose, pointed ears, and long, jagged fangs protruding from a pronounced underbite barely bothered him. Matt had dealt extensively with the Nosferatu in London to the point where the varied forms of hideousness were a non-issue.

Prince Calebros limped forward, the hunch on his back limiting his movement and Matt could see the outlines of two twisted legs under his black trenchcoat.

"Greetings," Calebros said, his speech slightly muffled by his jagged teeth and crooked jaw.

Matt gave a nod and a smirk in greeting, though quickly stiffened with the recollection that a more formal introduction was needed. He then gave a pronounced bow.

"Greetings, your highness," Matt said, suddenly clearing his throat as he realized his voice was shaking. "I am Mail Jeevas of Clan Brujah, childe of Melisand Riley."

The sides of the prince's mouth turned up in an approving smile.

"Your presence in my city is most welcome, Mail Jeevas of Clan Brujah," Calebros said, "and most helpful. Do you know why you're here?"

"I have a few assumptions, my…my lord," Matt said, now realizing he was a bit more tongue tied than he thought he would be. Just when he had gotten somewhat used to the perpetually intimidating and abrasive Mithras he was now in front of another powerful prince, though in a more intimate setting.

Calebros turned to Jonas and dismissed him with a wave of his clawed hand. Jonas nodded and walked to the back of the anteroom, disappearing behind the curtain of the archway.

"And what are those assumptions," Calebros asked. "I hear nothing gets past you."

Matt gave a nervous laugh as he relaxed somewhat.

"Well, I naturally assume you know about the Kira case since it is a little hard to avoid," Matt said, receiving an agreeing nod from the prince. "It is also clear that Kira is using some supernatural means for his mass murder and that naturally could spill over into our little neck of the weird. I also just happen to be acquainted with L on what I would like to consider a somewhat personal level."

"Though I am fully aware that the individual currently holding L's position is at best a chair warmer and at worst an outright usurper," Calebros said.

Matt nodded enthusiastically, the ache in his still heart burning a little hotter.

"I have received reliable information that the true L is dead," Matt said, "likely killed by Kira and someone, likely a member of Japan's National Police Agency, has taken his role to keep the world turning."

Calebros gave a profound nod.

"And you received this information how?" the Nosferatu asked.

Matt had screamed over the phone, cursing Mello out in every nasty word he knew for suddenly leaving Wammy's House. He didn't expect a sob from the other end. He didn't expect a whimper with one of the most horrible phrases he had ever heard: "L's dead, Matt."

"I learned the information from a childhood friend of mine who was also close to L, in fact he was closer," Matt said, trying to push the memory from his mind. "Both of us lived in the same children's home that trained successors to L. My friend learned the information first and passed it on."

"A fellow child at The Wammy's House where you were known only as 'Matt,'" Calebros said, "where you were third in line to replace L. To our knowledge you are also the only one of your peers to have received the Embrace, unless the Sabbat, Independents, or Anarchs have claimed any others aside from our knowledge."

"That would be correct, my lord," Matt replied. "I assume that this is the reason why I am here."

"It most certainly is," Calebros said. "Your status at Wammy's House has been very much noticed. I was informed by Prince Mithras that another party had considered making you their blood for that exact reason."

Matt raised his eyebrows; there were others who wanted to Embrace him?

Melisand said she Embraced him because he was already the ideal Brujah; a quick thinker with a passion for the offerings of the modern world, all behind the shell of a sarcastic hacker. The exact reason for his turning had to do with these qualities plus her desire for a partner after nearly a century alone.

"May I ask who the other party was," Matt said, now a little disturbed.

"Prince Mithras said he was aware of the other party's interest and had to consult them when your sire approached him asking to Embrace you," the Prince said, giving stepping slightly backwards.

"That interest had been tentative given your position in Wammy's House," another voice, a familiar deep monotone, chimed in from the back that made Matt's entire body go numb. "Though your Embrace into Clan Brujah was felt to be appropriate by our judgement."

The curtain in back parted and, in Matt's mind, a ghost walked through.

The matted black hair was the first thing that registered in his mind as haunting dark eyes bore through him. Slender hands peeked out through the loose sleeves of a black sport coat before being shoved into the pockets of a pair of baggy jeans.

A tiny coherent part of Matt's brain figured the jacket and penny loafers were all attempts to look respectable before the prince, even if his feet were characteristically bare in the ill-fitting shoes. The gray t-shirt must have been a new style though he should have been buried in that long-sleeved white shirt…then again he should have been just plain buried.

It took Matt a full second before he could feel his hands enough to realize they were shaking. His mouth opened with the desire to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

L walked forward and stopped beside the prince. He took another step and leaned forward, looking Matt directly in the eyes with that usual wide-eyed stare.

"You can calm down now," L said firmly, emphasizing the word "calm."

Matt's shaking gradually ceased as he suddenly felt a bit more at ease. L's command was obvious, causing Matt to chuckle as so many things started to make sense.

"You…you're a fucking vampire," Matt said in a cross between a gasp and a giggle, realizing all decorum in front of the prince went out the window.

L's small mouth gave a merry smile before straightening.

"I have to say I am quite proud of the respect this young Brujah has shown in your presence, my prince," L said, looking at Calebros. "So impressed that I think I can learn by his example even if it is not required of me."

Calebros gave a watery laugh as L stepped back and bowed low.

"Greetings, your highness," L said. "I am Liam Lawliet of Clan Malkavian, childe of Quillish Wammy."

Matt's eyes widened a bit more. L…Liam Lawliet? A Malkavian? Wammy's childe? Too many things were going through Matt's mind and he was receiving too many answers to too many obvious questions he never knew he needed to ask.

L's Clan was only natural: Malkavians were universally insane. They were stereotyped as goofy pranksters at best and homicidal maniacs at worst, though there were just as many who used their madness to further their purpose or study.

This would definitely apply to the detective who dedicated all his waking hours to solving cases, obsessively looking over every intricate detail and caring little about his own well being in the course of his pursuits.

Being Malkavian, L's mannerisms, from the crouched sit to biting his thumb, probably explained his blood the best. Even constantly eating sweets matched with the story; it was another compulsion, a lingering mortal comfort like Matt's smoking, and his dead stomach must have been able to hold solid food while he only needed blood to survive.

Calebros looked at Matt with what would have been a cocked eyebrow if he had any.

"You said he would be a bit shocked," the prince said, looking at L.

"Because he's supposed to be dead," Matt said, finding his voice a bit.

"Well technically…" L said, the insinuation obvious.

"But you're Kindred," Matt said, his brain still not processing all the information. "Then Kira wasn't able to kill you, it was all…"

"It was all finding out Kira's power," L replied, "unfortunately myself and Master Wammy did not leave unscathed." L looked back at the prince who nodded.

"This note of death you told us about," Calebros said. "You listen carefully you can hear the Warlocks flapping their lips about it."

"And it is indeed a threat to both humans and Kindred alike," L said. "Though as you have heard from your sources, your highness, the greater threat is to the humans as the effects on Kindred are temporary."

"A five minute staking, so I've heard," Calebros said

All of this was news to Matt. The only one who would have any information on the specifics of the Kira case was Near.

The term staking was a little more common to him, knowing a stake through the heart didn't kill a vampire it only paralyzed one for as long as the stake remained embedded. In this case, Kira didn't kill L: he only paralyzed him for a while.

"Though that is all details I will fully share," L said. "For the time being, I would like a moment alone with Mr. Jeevas."

The prince looked at Matt, whose eyes widened again, then nodded at L.

"Let me know when you want to get our conversation started," Calebros said, giving him a nod and casually walking to the back of the room.

Author's Note: I do intend to add more to this story eventually, though updating might be sparse depending on my muse and my other ongoing fic projects.


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